


tired/trying

by Anonymous



Series: not that kind of arrangement [6]
Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Friends With Benefits, M/M, Nightmares, Pining, Sleepy Cuddles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-26
Updated: 2019-05-26
Packaged: 2020-03-19 20:47:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18978064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Hamid has nightmares. Hamid can’t get more than half an hour of sleep at a time, some nights. Hamid isterrifiedto close his eyes.





	tired/trying

Hamid is tired. Hamid is _so_ tired. It feels like his bones are a hundred pounds each, and his eyelids are being held shut by sandbags. But he can’t— he doesn’t want to leave himself open to all of the nightmares that he knows are waiting for him as soon as he closes his eyes.

He isn’t asleep when Zolf says, “Hamid, it's fine,” but he’s going to be soon; he’s losing the battle against the Sandman, it seems. Hamid starts to speak, to object, to assure Zolf that he’s fine, but Zolf doesn’t let him. “Get some rest. I’ve got watch.” Hamid scowls at him. 

(Hamid has nightmares. Hamid can’t get more than half an hour of sleep at a time, some nights. Hamid is _terrified_ to close his eyes.)

Hamid needs to stay awake. He doesn’t say that, though, he says, “I don’t want to rest.” It’s not quite true. Hamid desperately wants to rest, but sleeping and resting are wildly different things. Zolf frowns at him. Hamid doesn’t need to explain himself, but he still mumbles, “Bad dreams,” and Zolf’s expression softens. Just for a second. And then he rolls his eyes, the perfect picture of exasperation. 

(Zolf knows about the nightmares. Hamid’s always had them, even before fire roared through his fingertips, even before the thing in the catacombs, even before almost drowning on the Channel, even before the Simulacrum nearly got everyone killed just by virtue of existing. Zolf has woken him up from the nightmares a few times. He doesn’t ask about them. He doesn’t say anything, which is good, because Hamid doesn’t want to have to say anything back.)

Zolf stands up off of the chair that’s been designated as the Watch Chair and comes over to Hamid. He sits down and puts an arm around Hamid’s shoulders. Hamid blinks at him. It takes far too long for his eyelids to come back up again. “You had bad dreams under Le arc de– _whatever,_ too,” Zolf says defensively, “and you said this helped.” He sounds annoyed, but Hamid’s pretty sure he doesn’t mean it. 

(He hopes, anyway. He hopes that Zolf doesn’t mind offering him these small courtesies. He hopes that Zolf isn’t as annoyed by the whole ordeal as he always sounds. He hopes that Zolf doesn’t mind _offering,_ at the very least, even if he minds it when Hamid accepts. He knows that’s probably still too much to ask for.)

Hamid lets his eyes close, and Zolf readjusts so that his shoulder isn’t pressing into Hamid as badly.

Hamid doesn’t mean to shift in closer, doesn’t mean to make a small, contented hum as he finally gets comfortable, doesn’t mean to slump against the other man so completely. But he does, and his tongue feels too thick with exhaustion to apologise. “G’night,” he mumbles out of habit, “love you.” Zolf’s shoulder tightens up beneath him. Hamid realises that he should probably apologise profusely for the blunder, but he’s too exhausted. He’ll deal with it in the morning. 

Zolf relaxes so that Hamid has a better pillow, and Hamid makes an approving noise somewhere in the back of his throat. 

(He’s half-dreaming already; he swears he hears Zolf mutter _you too,_ as softly as he can manage. Hamid isn’t stupid. Hamid knows that can’t be real. He’s imagining it. He’s sleep-deprived and only barely conscious, even _if_ Zolf said anything at all, it wouldn’t have been _that.)_

(Hamid has bad dreams, but he never jerks awake. There’s something warm at his side and something strong keeping a hold on his arm. Something he trusts. Something that’s guarding him, keeping him protected. Nothing can get him because he’s wrapped up tight by something that’s _safe._ Hamid doesn’t remember his nightmares.)

He’s shaken awake only a few moments later, and he groans and tries to curl away. “No, Hamid— get up.” Hamid cracks one suspicious eye open and glares. He can see the vague outline of the Watch Chair with Sasha sat in it. Zolf hisses, _“Don’t,”_ presumably at Sasha, and Hamid closes his eyes again. He’s too tired to hold them open. Zolf shakes him again, and Hamid grumbles wordlessly as he burrows further into Zolf’s shoulders. “Hamid, I need to sleep, so you need to get off of me.”

Hamid frowns. He doesn’t open his eyes. “Don’ wanna have nightmares,” he manages, lips barely parting around the words.

“You’ll be fine.” Zolf shoves him away, and Hamid hits the floor _hard._

(Right.)

(This keeps happening, Zolf keeps holding Hamid close, but he had to know Zolf would stop letting him stay at some point.)

Hamid scowls and turns over. His shoulder hurts. 

Zolf doesn’t apologise. Zolf doesn’t even ask him if he’s okay.

(Hamid knows that whatever it is they’re doing, it doesn’t have room for kind, for gentle, for soft. Hamid knows that Zolf doesn’t want to put himself on display, especially not if he’s being attached to Hamid. Hamid knows that whatever it is they’re doing, neither of them wants others to see. That doesn’t stop his shoulder from hurting or his chest from turning concave.)

Hamid is still tired. Hamid is still _so_ tired. _“Ow.”_ Zolf doesn’t say anything. No apology, no worry over Hamid’s well-being. “Good night, then,” Hamid snaps, claws digging into his palms.

 _(Good night,_ Hamid said earlier. _I love you,_ Hamid said earlier. Stupid, stupid, _stupid.)_

(It was more habit than anything real, anyway.)

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, the smut resumes next week.


End file.
